The Pain and Pleasure of the Jump
by bakaheartsanime
Summary: It felt like he was being pulled in a thousand different directions, and none of them leading anywhere good. Slash. David/Griffin.


**The Pain and Pleasure of the Jump**

David didn't know what dying felt like; he hadn't yet had the privilege of experiencing it. But if he had to assign a feeling he knew to death, in all likelihood, it would be this.

He and Griffin both had their hands on the safe. He tried to reason with the enraged jumper, excuses about how they could make this work – just get Millie out of there and then Griffin could blow the place to smithereens for all he cared – bubbling over his weathered lips. All he got in reply was a stare of furious eyes before –

Oh God. There it was.

Griffin jumped.

It felt like he was being pulled in a thousand different directions, and none of them leading anywhere good. Jumping without a destination was painful enough, but jumping with someone else's destination forced into the deepest crevices of your mind – that was hell. His vision swirled, the lights around him flashing and disappearing at rates his frazzled head just couldn't keep up with. Dizzy, nearly blind, and only half-conscious, he felt as if he were nowhere for an eternity, sucked in by the swirling nothingness of the jump.

The only thing that offered David the slightest bit of comfort was the vision of Griffin across from him. Well, it began as comfort; the knowledge that someone else was with him in the emptiness. That fact giving him the tiniest bit of reassurance that he was still alive, despite the overwhelming feeling that he had been drowned swiftly and suddenly by the void between jump spots, never to emerge breathing. But the more he looked at Griffin - and then _really_ looked - the more that comfort morphed into something far more frightening and dangerous and _oh_ _so_- Griffin's body was stretched out long, his head thrown back and his expression a sort of sadistic ecstasy. The sight was completely, undeniably, and unsettlingly lust-inducing, and David could feel the fire in the pit of his stomach roaring.

Griffin looked absolutely ravished: flushed cheeks, open mouth, arched back. It surprised David how much the vision excited him. His rough, stubbly skin held a worn quality that David felt himself wanting to reach out and touch. His hair was mussed and sweaty and stuck out from his head, and David longed to rake fingers through it, to see it just the way it was, but because of something a little more pleasant than a fight. His waist was thin and David's arms itched to encircle it, to lift up the shirt and expose all of the milky white muscle he was sure was underneath. Worst of all were his lips, pink and plump and open, and David, more than anything, wanted to kiss him.

And then, after an eternity that was not nearly long enough, the vision faded, the lights dimmed, and all of a sudden he landed – hard – somewhere he did not recognize, with Griffin, back to his guarded, irascible self, sending him a savage glare.

The image of Griffin jumping was fading from David's mind, and he grasped at it unthinkingly and frantically before reality hit him in the form of Griffin's knuckles against his cheekbone. He flew backward, and almost immediately, Griffin's boot barreled into his stomach. All the breath having left him, David let out a strangled groan, but Griffin only began yelling at him, waving around the detonator. David couldn't hear what he was saying, so he just took the chance to grab the detonator, and jumped them to the Brooklyn Bridge. David's fist connected with Griffin's temple, his knee with Griffin's side, and then Griffin jumped again, and he felt the indescribable pain, and then the flame in his groin, and when it was over he was somewhere sandy outside a city. He was disoriented again, and felt more than a little sick, but he kept running – the detonator held tight in his left hand.

They jumped a few more times and David sincerely thought he was about to die, when finally he saw his chance. He didn't want to – all he wanted to do was pin Griffin to the ground and kiss him to within an inch of his life – but that just wasn't an option, not with Millie in the hands of the Paladins. So David jumped them, into the electrical wiring, and left Griffin there – to die for all he knew.

* * *

><p>Millie was safe. Lying, drenched, on the floor of the library, David held her tight in his arms.<p>

"I'm sorry," he said, so many times it hurt.

He took her to the bar where she worked, and one of Millie's nameless friends ran up to them with concern, led Millie to a seat and grabbed a towel from behind the bar to wrap around her shoulders. David's glance caught the abandoned take-out container on the counter and his mind reeled to the jumper he had left stranded.

"Millie, I'm sorry. I have to go." Millie was in good enough hands. "You're safe now, I promise."

He leaned down and kissed her cheek softly. He wasn't sure he'd ever see her again. Then he disappeared. He'd leave it to her to come up with some kind of explanation for her friend.

* * *

><p>Griffin was gone. The wires were sparking and fizzing, but Griffin was nowhere to be found amongst them. David was frantic, his eyes wide with panic, and he jumped to the only place he could think to jump.<p>

* * *

><p>The lair was a mess. Torn papers littered the place, distorted faces of a million Paladins staring up at him from the sooty floor. Just about everything in sight had been burnt to a crisp, including Griffin's couch, the insides spewing over its tattered edges. The television had been knocked off of its stand and was now heaped on the ground in a wreckage of broken glass and electrical wiring. It was a mess, but in all honesty, it was a miracle it had managed to escape caving in altogether. The place should have been knocked, burnt, slashed to the ground; should've collapsed beneath the sand above it. Griffin's few possessions could have been lost forever. But Griffin, furious, unreasonable git that he was, wouldn't see it that way.<p>

Finally David glimpsed movement. Something in the corner was shaking. It was a heap of clothing and – yes, that was brown hair.

"Griffin…" David let out like a breath.

The boy didn't move, other than the involuntary, but a nearly inaudible whimper sounded from his direction. David inched forward, cautiously, and laid a hand on Griffin's shoulder. Griffin flinched a little before unconsciously leaning into the touch. It took a few seconds for David to work up the nerve, at which point he began to say "I'm sorry". Before he could get halfway finished, Griffin pulled abruptly away from him, spun around, and let out a sound unsettlingly close to a growl.

"How dare you."

"Wha-?"

"You're sorry? That's all you have to say? You're _sorry_? Ten years - _years_ - I've been trying to stop these damn paladins and finally I have a chance - a perfect bloody chance - ruined because of your damned sentimentality."

David couldn't believe the reason he was angry. David had, for all Griffin knew, attempted to murder the jumper, and all Griffin cared about were the wretched Paladins. David would have - arguably_ should_ have - exploded at the boy; told him that he was unhealthily obsessed with the organization, that he wasn't thinking rationally, that one innocent life should be worth saving, no matter what the cost. But all he could think about was the look of shock and hurt and helplessness in the boy's eyes, the fact that his anger was, if irrational, understandable, and that he still, after everything, wanted nothing more than to kiss those weathered lips until all of that anger had dissipated. Besides all that, David did have good news to tell.

"Griffin, griffin," David uttered, stopping the jumper's rant short, "It's okay. It's over."

"What?" Griffin asked, uncharacteristically speechless. His eyes were wide with disbelief and confusion.

"They're gone. They're all gone. Even the head, believe me, you'll be proud when I tell you what I've done to him."

Griffin opened and closed his mouth like a fish for a few seconds before stuttering, "But you wanted to save your girlfriend," and David tried not to look too pleased at the bitterness in Griffin's tone.

"I did. She's safe. Griffin," he put a hand on his cheek and leaned in close, "I did it all."

For a moment, Griffin contemplated feeling angry that David, a damned novice, and a brainless, clumsy one at that, had accomplished what he had slaving over for ten years. But David's hand was warm on his neck, and David's face was just close enough that Griffin could feel his breath hot on his cheek, and David's lips were pink and slightly parted in anticipation of Griffin's reaction, and more than anything Griffin was ecstatic at the relief the Paladins' destruction brought him, and all he could think to do was reward the harbinger.

So that's just what he did.

David was shocked more than anything when Griffin's lips crashed into his, but it did not take him long to recover. He kissed back with equal fervor, his hand moving to the back of Griffin's neck and fisting in the jumper's dusty brown hair. Griffin hadn't really expected such a positive reaction. In fact, he hadn't expected much of a reaction at all. But the feel of David's mouth against his was heavy and addicting, and he couldn't bring himself to pull away. Instead, he balled his fists into the fabric of David's (decidedly too thick) jacket, and pulled him closer, running a wet tongue over the taller man's bottom lip. Jackets and shirts were ripped off and strewn across the already filthy lair as Griffin stood, pulling David with him, and maneuvered them with ease to the unmade bed in the back room. Such ease, in fact, that David vaguely considered the fact that Griffin must have done this before, and contemplated getting jealous, before, with mouth against mouth, tongue against tongue, and skin against warm skin, he decided he couldn't possibly consider anything at all.

David did not know what he and Griffin would do now that the enemy was defeated. Maybe more extremists would crop up; if it happened once it was like to happen again. Maybe (hopefully) they were done with that forever. Maybe they would become internationally renowned criminals, robbing banks all over the world. Maybe (David giggled at the vision, before being overtaken by an impatient pair of lips) they would become superheroes. But what David knew, inarguably, unconditionally, was that they would do it together, because Griffin was far too rugged and tumultuous and _exquisite_ to give up. And from the thorough and meticulous way his body was currently being mapped, he was fairly certain Griffin had found a new obsession.

* * *

><p><em>AN: This came out of my, after watching the movie, thinking about what it might feel like to jump. It's got to feel like something, right? Is there an actual place that you go between jump spots, or is it instantaneous, or is it more of a swirling vortex a la Doctor Who? It was fun trying to imagine that, and then to write about it as if it were real. Fun stuff, that sci fi! (Then, of course, it turned slashy because, well, what else would it do?) Anyway, enough of my ramblings... hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading!_


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